The Last to Know
by Dizzydodo
Summary: When Leonard is fatally injured, Spock attempts to save him with a bond. Unfortunately, Leonard mistakes this for an act of duty, and all Spock's hints to the contrary go unnoticed.
1. Chapter 1

Of course he would have his grand revelation as he lay dying.

Leonard McCoy prided himself on a keen grasp of human nature and a thorough understanding of his crew-mates, unfortunately, that insight rarely extended to himself.

He lay on the unforgiving stone surface of a foreign planet, looking up at a sky that was nothing like the deep blue of Georgia, agony shooting through his veins and the bitter taste of blood pooling at the back of his throat. In the distance, he could still hear the away team calling for him, but try as he might he couldn't get his voice above a hoarse whisper. It wasn't Leonard's nature to give up, but he thought something of Spock must have rubbed off on him after all these years together, because all he could think as he felt the pain turn to a dull prickle was that it was patently illogical to attempt an action once he had already established its inefficacy.

Damn. He even heard it in the hobgoblin's voice. That was his undoing, the thought that finally brought the first sting of tears to his eyes; not the improbability of survival, not how helpless he felt or alone… just the memory of Spock's voice, infinitely reassuring in its mellow, even cadences.

Leonard mustered every ounce of stubborn determination he had left and shifted, feeling fiery anguish rack him again. He never could stand to watch a man suffer, but just now it was a comfort that he was still clinging to life enough to feel it. If Jim and company could reach him soon, there would still be time. He fixated on that, feeling hope flair when the echoing voices drew nearer and die again when they faded out. His normally skilled hands were so _clumsy_ , and he couldn't seem to think beyond immediate sensation. He fumbled briefly, pressing as heavily as he could on the seeping wound in his side; he was breathing yet, his lungs weren't punctured.

Fear was nothing new to Leonard McCoy but panic was. He forced it down as soon as he felt it building, replacing desperate, voiceless pleas with cherished memories. It was funny how many of those included Spock.

When their frequent arguments had ceased to be an annoyance and become a pleasure he didn't know, but Leonard found himself dwelling on those bitter fights, replaying them in his mind's eye until his body was only a distant sensory impression. He had always enjoyed needling the Vulcan, sensing a man that was his perfect complement, both of them strong-willed and neither lacking in conviction.

It was that zealotry that so often set them at odds, and after years of working together, Leonard could admit in this final, private moment that he had learned to respect it. Leonard didn't think there were many Vulcans capable of mustering the passion to defend their beliefs so fiercely against a constant onslaught- especially when confronted with evidence to the contrary, he thought smugly. Spock wasn't here to challenge him on it anyway, though Leonard could well imagine that delicate arch of his brow that would somehow manage to convey disbelief, disagreement, and the subtle threat of retaliation all at once had he been around to hear the assessment.

A snort of laughter brought him back to the present, his tears finally spilling down his cheeks at the involuntary spasm. One of his ribs was broken but the numbness of shock was beginning to wear away. That was a good sign. He repeated it like a mantra, trying desperately to convince himself of it as he dipped back into the stillness of his own thoughts again, adjusting his hands to compensate for the newly discovered injury.

Leonard tried to consider Jim in all this. His captain wouldn't be taking this too well, not after being the one to insist that Leonard accompany the away team. It was only supposed to have been a quick geographical survey, and after missing out on shore leave owing to an outbreak of the Rigellian flu aboard ship, Jim had meant this to be an easy assignment, just a distraction to pull him out of sickbay for a few hours. Pity their scans hadn't been able to detect lifeforms for all the ionic disturbance. It would have saved them a lot of pain and heartbreak.

Maybe not heartbreak. Not if he could hold on until his team found him, and they would if they had to scour the entire planet on foot, Leonard knew.

His thoughts drifted aimlessly, unable to focus despite his best efforts, inevitably it all came back to Spock.

The first officer had gone off in the company of Sulu, both of them more interested in cataloging the local flora than assisting Chekov with collecting dust and water samples. Spock and Jim had both been very clear that _no_ _one_ was to be on their own at any time. Leonard still wasn't sure if it was his imagination that made it seem like they had both been looking pointedly in _his_ direction as they lectured. Assuming he survived Jim was going to write him up something _fierce_ , but Leonard had been so sure he had heard something screaming, and to ignore it was beyond him. He'd been right. And wrong. All of that could be saved for the report he was going to write as soon as he was back aboard.

Feeling his pulse beginning to race, Leonard turned back inward, seeking out a quiet moment to relive. He could remember nights in the captain's quarters, Jim grinning widely while he and Spock ignored their dinners in favor of sniping at each other across the expanse of the table. Spock had inevitably chosen Leonard's profession as his point of attack, criticizing everything from his equipment to _professional_ methods to the way he ran the ship's sickbay. Leonard had in turn immediately honed in on Spock's heritage, a sore point he was well acquainted with after too many sensitivity briefings to count.

Later, as he inevitably sat stewing over Spock's parting comments, Jim had often jokingly accused him of pulling Spock's pigtails like a girl he liked but was too shy to talk to without the excuse of a knock-down, drag out fight.

 _Not entirely inaccurate._

Leonard stopped breathing for all of a second while he considered the permutations of that errant thought. The edge of his vision whitened and he hurriedly sucked in another gasping breath, half-sobbing with effort. _Damn_. Another breath, a stabbing pain, another still until finally his vision stopped wavering.

In the end it always came back to Spock. And much as he might have liked to deny it, Spock wasn't the thorn in his side Leonard had always insinuated. Well, he _was,_ but Leonard didn't know what he would do if the Vulcan ever stopped responding to his taunts.

 _Pulling pigtails_.

Thirty years gone and he was still all of nine years old, and Jim the only one savvy enough to spot it.

Not that he would ever have the chance to tell Jim as much if his circumstances didn't change right quickly. At least that spared him the indignity of admitting it to Spock too; as if that computer needed another excuse to be self-satisfied.

Even as he struggled, his breath came shorter. No amount of pressure was sparking pain, and his fingers were done cooperating; they no longer felt cold, he couldn't even tell if he was moving them. _Dammit, not now. Please not now. Just a minute longer-_

Len thought he must be hallucinating the sound of booted feet scuffling frantically down the edge of the sheer, the chirp of a communicator and an impossibly familiar voice, welcome in a way he would have been pleased to admit for once if his lips weren't slack and unresponsive.

"I have located Dr. McCoy, medics are required at the following coordinates-"

No way in hell could he have imagined the edge in Spock's voice, an unmistakable tremor underlying the words that Leonard was certain he had never heard before, not in his wildest dreams. He tried to respond, offer some assurance that he was conscious and aware, but that state was tenuous at best and the attempt robbed him of what pitiful strength he had salvaged. His vision faded, muscles failing so that even a twitch was impossible.

Leonard was awake only long enough to feel cool fingers weaving through his own; a curious wave of reassurance and determination surged through him, but he didn't have more than a second to wonder at it before light swallowed him.

!

!

* * *

!

!

The hum of the Enterprise's engines was a familiar sound after two years aboard ship; it wove itself through his dreams and memories until Leonard couldn't be sure whether he was awake or sleeping. Voices drifted in and out of his awareness too, sometimes Jim, mostly Geoff. He thought once he might even have heard a stern "Stop, Leonard." In Spock's voice. That couldn't be right though, Spock seldom addressed him by name and never without making it sound like a vile epithet.

Which made it all the more surprising when he opened his eyes to find Spock leaning over him, one hand clamped firmly about his wrist and his own tangled around an IV. Gently Leonard released it, trying to focus on the Vulcan's face but finding it more than a shade difficult. Bright floaters darted through his vision, flashes of light and specks of matter that he had to blink repeatedly to clear.

"Stopped." Leonard croaked, swallowing to test his throat. He was parched and the wetness stung all the way down, but at least there was no lingering taste of iron. He was breathing without having to hear the death rattle in his throat. That alone was enough to make him cooperative for once, even if only for a few astonished seconds.

Spock still hadn't released him, though his grip relaxed as soon as Leonard released the tube. He wouldn't look away either, and Leonard flinched from that too-knowing gaze. Vulcans were touch-telepaths, and while he knew Spock to be an honorable man- _Vulcan-_ he wondered how much of his mental state the first officer could decipher from that innocuous touch alone. When he tried to pull away, Spock's grip tightened again. If Leonard had known him a little less, he might have confused that twitch of the lips for the beginning of a scowl. He could certainly see temper reflected in that direct gaze, though he knew Spock would emphatically deny it.

Leonard tried to speak, anything to break the accusatory silence between them, but his tongue still didn't want to respond. It took him two more tries before he could break eye contact and muster up an all too subdued, "What th'hell are you doing in my sickbay, Hobgoblin? Get back to the bridge."

Even that small defiance robbed him of breath, but Leonard stubbornly held on to his scowl, determined to win this contest of wills. Just because he'd had a once in a lifetime revelation didn't mean he was going to be taking it easy on Spock any time soon. Far from it.

"The captain informed me of the change in your condition. In light of our circumstances, he requested that I be present for your awakening."

There were too many words in that one sentence Leonard didn't care for, listed in no particular order those were: _change_ , _our_ , _circumstances_ , and _awakening_.

What bothered him even more was the minute he realized he couldn't hear the bustle of orderlies in the background, couldn't see anyone besides himself and Spock anywhere near. This was not standard procedure, and Spock _still_ wouldn't let go of his wrist. Leonard yanked as hard as he could, unsurprised when it accomplished precisely nothing. He had performed enough of Spock's physicals to know Vulcans were too strong by half, and one recovering Human wasn't going to wriggle away with that frail effort.

"You gonna let me go anytime soon, Mister Spock?" It reassured him to hear his own voice, the dry amusement coating his words that Spock had long since given up understanding.

Spock glanced down, a flicker of surprise crossing his face when he noted his own pale skin against Leonard's tan. He pulled away as though struck by a viper while Leonard pretended he wasn't a little hurt by it.

"Good. Now you can call for M'Benga 'n get out. Your company isn't necessary." He was overcompensating, but how else to throw the Vulcan off his scent? And he could feel his nervousness building, seeing the determined frown that settled between Spock's brows.

"Before I can admit your staff, there are several facts you will wish to apprised of, doctor."

Leonard twitched his toes, testing his fingertips for sensation along the edge of his nails and taking stock of the myriad aches throughout his body: dull and unremarkable, his condition was fully responsive. Though there was a curious pressure at the back of his head that felt like a stress headache building. Was it any wonder, being subjected to the the first officer's questionable mercies so soon after his awakening?

"Such as?"

Spock considered him in silence, and though Leonard was sure it couldn't have been more than a matter of seconds, it felt like an eternity with Spock's gaze focused on him to the exclusion of all else; like he was the center of all universes both known and unknown.

"Spock, I hurt. I would appreciate it if you could just spit it out." His tone was weary and resigned, nothing like the snappish response he had intended, but he was _tired,_ body was still resisting this new wakefulness, and that pressure in his skull was _building_ -

"You have been unconscious for approximately three days in a medically induced coma. This is not the first time that you have regained consciousness, though this is your first sustained conversation and longest conscious interval. Captain Kirk has requested that I not divulge further details until I have made certain of your condition."

"What the hell _is_ my condition, Mister Spock, because you're makin' an awful lot of it, and far as I can see my only trouble now is going to be avoiding the brig."

"That is unlikely, doctor. The captain has been apprised of the details regarding your conduct planetside and is satisfied that all conditions were met for extenuating circumstances."

 _How did he find out?_

" _Dammit,_ man. Come to the point." It was more of a muffled growl than an exasperated shout, but Spock met his gaze for the first time since he had deliberately looked away and uttered the _last_ words Leonard H. McCoy had ever expected to hear outside of the tawdry, sensationalist romances that made their way around the ship every few months.

"Your injuries were critical, and transportation aboard ship was rendered impossible by an unpredictable shift in atmospheric conditions- the same interference that prevented our equipment from detecting your transponder- the medical team confirmed that without interference your injuries would prove fatal. In a final attempt to prevent your demise, I initiated a bond. While the effects have been temporarily reduced pharmaceutically, this was meant only as a temporary measure."

 _Bonded._ To _Spock_. Leonard tamped down on his instinctive panic, drawing several deep breaths before he dared to speak. Thankfully, Spock seemed to sense his need to direct the conversation. Perhaps the bond hadn't been dulled on his end. Did he even require touch now that they were linked? Leonard gathered his wits, biting back a scathing response; this was not the time for blame-shifting and recriminations. Spock always acted logically; if bonding meant saving a life, then of course he would do it. _Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead._

That didn't make Leonard any less furious, terrified, and concerned. What would it do to Spock, being bonded to a Human whose presence he could hardly stand on the best of days? He hated himself even more for considering that while his own fate was still so uncertain.

All he could think to say was, "What does that mean in a sentence or less?"

Spock rose, his manner oddly solicitous as he tucked the thin blanket nearer to Leonard's body, hands brushing unconsciously against exposed skin while he straightened the medical gown draped over his shoulders. Vulcan perfectionism knew no bounds. "Rest, doctor, we will return to this discussion when you are recovered."

Leonard slipped into unconsciousness like he had only been awaiting permission, unreasonably disappointed that Spock hadn't said his name once more.

!

!

Spock wasn't there when he woke again, but Christine and M'Benga were crowding close. That was hardly his most pressing concern, more remarkable was that strange awareness at the back of his mind. It wasn't intrusive, not an invader or a parasite, but it was certainly something _other_.

Oh. Spock. M'Benga had decided to let his dosage lapse then- Leonard pushed the thought to the back of his mind, ignoring the fear, curiosity and frustration that rose up in equal measure. "No offense, Geoff, but you look like death warmed over."

Not so much as a smile, though Len could see his features soften slightly; Christine nodded to herself, tapping a few last notes on a PADD before she strode away from the bed, the pneumatic hiss of the door and the click of her heels in the hall enough to warn him that whatever was coming would have to be between himself and his physician. Geoff knew then, about the bond. About Spock.

Leonard cleared his throat, "Am I fit for duty, doctor?" He didn't feel like it, but the sooner he was up and moving the sooner he could put his fragmenting thoughts in order.

"How are you feeling, Len?"

"If I had my druthers, I'd already be gone. You've got nothing to worry about; Spock already told me everything. Good to see he's finally back to his post."

"That's good." M'Benga was still distracted, eyeing his vital readouts with a keen eye. "There hasn't been much change in your status. I've been monitoring neural activity, of course-"

"Of course."

"We've decreased your dampeners. If you focus, you should be able to get a feel for the bond."

Leonard pulled a face, "No focus required. I thought you must've cut me off entirely."

"No, not yet. I thought it would be advisable to give you a few days to accustom yourself to it with some judicious intervention."

"I appreciate it."

He wasn't even off the drugs and already he was hyper-aware of that new presence tucked in his thoughts; paranoia had him scrambling to think of something nonsensical, trying desperately not to remember those last few minutes of consciousness. He could've sworn he felt a flicker of interest in that pocket of otherness, but it could as easily have been his overwrought mind playing tricks.

Leonard shifted, swallowing back a cry when his entire body protested the small movement. Geoff leapt forward to put a restraining arm on his chest, holding him in place until his breathing steadied again.

"What th'hell was that?"

"The trauma from the fall left your pelvis in pieces. I put you back together a few days ago." Geoff tried for a reassuring chuckle and even half-managed it, "But it'll be awhile before you're ready for knocking down obstacle courses. You'll be walking out on your own steam," he hastened to clarify, seeing Leonard's mulish look, "I just think you'll appreciate a little assistance."

Leonard leaned back, drawing a deep breath meant to soothe that did nothing of the sort. As far as bad news went, this wasn't terrible. At least he wasn't confined here for observation any longer; it just sat ill with him, being the last to know. It seemed a lot had gone on without him these past few days, and Leonard was left scrambling for a sense of his place in a world order that had shifted far too quickly.

 _Days._

"How long was I out this time?"

"Commander Spock left four hours ago."

Not bad then. Not good either. More than anything he wanted to bury himself beneath the thin blanket and sleep for another week or so, and that was precisely why he had to be on his feet the very second M'Benga cleared him. Damned if this was going to throw him off balance in anything more than the strictly literal sense. Chagrined, Leonard twisted and adjusted his weight, assessing the pinpricks of icy pain that ran down his legs and up his back. Had he been ten years younger Leonard kidded himself he could have been walking by now.

Age brought wisdom; he knew better than to believe it. He shifted again, bracing for pain; this second time around it was not so sharp, or at least it didn't manage to steal his breath, but without help recovery was going to be _agony_.

"I don't suppose I could request the loan of a cane?"

M'Benga smiled with open relief, evidently pleased he would not have to make it an order. Leonard tamped down on his annoyance; he had a reputation for stubbornness, true, but he wasn't pigheaded, _dammit_.

"I'll have Chapel deliver it later tonight. She wants your approval for the lab roster."

"No need. I'll be working again by beta shift tomorrow."

The door hissed open just as M'Benga drew a breath to deliver what Leonard suspected was meant to be a resounding negative. Jim swept between them before he could finish the thought, dropping onto the edge of Leonard's bed with enviable finesse. The look Geoff was giving him said plainly this discussion wasn't over, but he withdrew into the back to allow them a few minutes of privacy.

Guilt prompted Leonard to speak before Jim could get a word in edgewise; "I'm sorry for what happened planetside-"

"I'm just glad you're here to regret it, Bones." Jim sagged against the headboard, offering a tired smile, "Try not to do this to me again. The entire team just about lost their minds when they realized you had vanished. You're supposed to be cavalry, not front lines."

"I'm guessing Spock told you the local fauna took a dislike to my person?"

"In vivid detail. You took a few years off his life, not to mention mine." Jim hesitated, likely debating the wisdom of bringing up Spock so soon. As captain, he could hardly ignore it, but as a friend his first impulse would be to delay a little longer. Wanting to spare him, Leonard seized the bull by the horns.

"I think you owe me congratulations."

"Oh?" He composed his expression into something suitably neutral, but Leonard could see him fretting over whether the fall hadn't knocked something loose upstairs.

"It sounds like I've gone and got engaged to your second."

Jim sighed, "Don't take this one out on Spock. I gave my clearance almost before he requested it, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. It'll be a month yet before we can make Vulcan, but Spock assures me there are healers qualified and willing to dissolve the bond."

"I'm gonna have to thank the hobgoblin, aren't I?"

"That's between you and Spock."

Leonard sighed, tipping his head back and shutting his eyes against the piercing glow of the sickbay lights. "Dammit, Jim. I can feel him in there, like he's waiting to pounce the minute I let my guard down."

"Mr. Spock is one of the fleet's finest officers and an honorable man by all accounts. He wouldn't." Jim murmured, stern but gentle.

"I know, Jim, I'm just tired. Think you could give me some time?"

Jim nodded his understanding, slipping from the bed and prowling out before Leonard could mumble even a cursory farewell.

It looked like as far as bonding went, he was on his own.

Carefully he prodded at that pocket of _Spock_ in his periphery, wondering in what he hoped was the sanctity of his own thoughts whether he would ever truly be alone again.

!

!

* * *

!

!

A.N. While this fic is finished, there will be a brief delay between updates so that I can edit/clean up. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

A night in sickbay had done nothing to improve Leonard's temper, neither had Spock's remarkably conspicuous absence when he had finally been permitted to leave. He wasn't on shift, that much Leonard had taken care to verify despite the knowing looks he could feel prickling the hair on the back of his neck. Was it so unusual that he would want to know where his nearly-literal other half was if it was not at his side? Apparently the rest of the infirmary thought so.

Geoff had hovered uncertainly at his side, occasionally drawing a breath as though he intended to speak and then thinking better of it. Christine had been her usual efficient self, presenting the PADD bearing his discharge information with a face so blank it might as well have been carved into a grimace. He felt for her, truly. She had always carried a bit of a torch for Spock, and despite all his teasing Leonard would never have wished this on her.

Of course, he would never have wished it on himself or Mr. Spock either.

Guilt had been his constant companion throughout the night; he would have tossed but that every time he tried to move more than an inch, it sent pain radiating up his spine and down his legs. Jim said he was clear, Spock said his actions were defensible. Neither one were prone to mincing words, therefore it must be so. He didn't have the courage to confess that between the trauma and the pharmaceutical cocktail pumping through his veins, he couldn't remember what had been so pressing that he had deserted his partner to investigate.

And all night, that space that was both him and not him had taunted him with the possibility of exploration. That way lie disaster. Curiosity had never done Leonard McCoy a lick of good, this was only the latest in a long line of unfortunate accidents. Maybe even the one to cure him of his wandering for good.

McCoy was halfway to his quarters before he turned back, heading toward the common areas of the ship. He comforted himself that it was probably only a side-effect of their traumatic bonding, but either way Leonard knew he would not be able to focus on a damn thing until he had spoken with Mr. Spock and seen that all was forgiven between them. If the healers were not willing to dissolve the bond then it could be years indeed before either of them saw a moment's rest, and he didn't want to enter into that kind of arrangement without first reaching an understanding.

Except that Mr. Spock was clearly a master of that old Terran children's game Leonard had so loved as a child. He made a note to inquire whether Vulcan children too played Hide-and-Seek or whether Spock's talent was purely innate.

A quick search of the primary rec room yielded no results, a few taps on Spock's door (Not to mention one very unauthorized and potentially unethical use of a medical override) had also been futile.

He turned at last to the second deck's observation room, drawn by some invisible cord that seemed to slacken as he drew nearer. The closer he came to it, the less taut his skin felt, pulse gradually returning to average levels, the pain in his hips ever so gradually lessening. It was slow going; Leonard hadn't quite mastered the use of his cane and every few steps he would out-pace himself and end up stopping to regain his balance at some convenient juncture.

 _Should have stayed in the infirmary_.

Leonard huffed, pushing himself ever onward. M'Benga had cautioned him against leaving so soon but of course he hadn't listened. It was that damned McCoy pride that had made him paste on a grin and deflect every inquiry after his health. He was certain none of his staff had been fooled, but he had been released with minimal fuss. Likely to teach him a valuable lesson in humility. It was true what they said about old dogs and new tricks; Len wasn't about to turn back and admit defeat now.

A flash of frustration had him gritting his teeth, unsure how much of it had been his own and how much Spock's. The Vulcan was on the move, and Leonard could feel an undercurrent of displeasure at the back of his thoughts; he might even have called it 'surliness' if Vulcans were capable of it.

He knew Spock was there a moment before he rounded the corner, looking every bit the stern first officer. "You were not scheduled to depart sickbay for an additional forty minutes."

Privately Leonard thought he should have saved the scolding for when both of them might have taken a bit of liquid courage. But if Spock was determined to treat him as though this were business as usual.

"Hello, Spock, fancy meeting you here. I don't suppose this psychic bond business came equipped with a bond-mate proximity sensor?" Leonard smiled sweetly, trying to ignore the twinge of hurt when Spock visibly recoiled at his use of 'bond-mate'. Was there another word for "Man-I-am-telepathically-linked-to-by-Vulcan-magic'?

"As I have no personal experience with the phenomena of bonding between members of separate species, I cannot be certain proximity awareness is a common factor."

Leonard whistled, nearly rocking back on his feet before he remembered that was no longer feasible. "That was a mouthful. Can you say it three times fast?" Spock stiffened even further if that were possible; offense radiating from him in palpable waves. Len smiled disarmingly, trying to take the edge off his own nervousness. On the surface it was business as usual and that ought to have comforted him; in practice, he hadn't a clue in hell what they were in for and Spock had just admitted, however roundabout, that neither did he.

In the vernacular, they were up a creek without a paddle. Maybe even without a boat.

Spock cut in before he could spiral into despair, starting a measured pace down the corridor that Leonard felt compelled to follow; any ensign could happen by if they carried on in the hall. Whose quarters would they choose then? His room was farther away and the idea of walking was profoundly unpleasant, but going to Spock's quarters was a daunting prospect to say the least. He had never felt welcome there, never quite _safe_ in the unfamiliar surroundings.

"I cannot be certain without further evidence, but I suspect our mutual awareness is a natural side-effect of our connection," Spock offered, careful not to glance in his direction.

He sagged gently, hardly noticing the way Spock's hand twitched toward him, ready to offer assistance if required.

"Look, Spock, just… divvy with me here. Information i'n't easy to come by and I'm not used to being kept in the dark. What other changes are we lookin' at? Will it persist after the bond is dissolved? Does this go both ways, can you read my thoughts?" _Am I still me?_

Leonard would never say it aloud but he knew Spock would take his meaning. Over the years he had become quite adept at parsing through human speech, treating it as any one of the other dozen or so complex algorithms he performed on a daily basis. To a species as scrupulously honest as Vulcans, Humans must seem like the worst sort of liars and deceivers; for his part, at least, Leonard had always tried to be direct. Spock was at least good enough to return the favor.

"Emotional transference is commonly reported following bonding, though it is my understanding that it will decrease with time. Thoughts are not analogous to speech or written words, therefore 'read' is not an appropriate descriptor, but we will be peripherally aware of each other's state of mind."

"Exactly how many 'emotions' do you expect to transfer?" Even with fear churning in his gut and his skin turning clammy with stress, Leonard found a last shred of gallows humor capable of bringing a shaky quirk to his lips. He meant it in jest, but Spock nodded as though the question were reasonable and expected.

"I spoke for your benefit, doctor. Doubtless I shall be the martyr in this instance."

 _Doctor_. It felt like a slap in the face and a warm blanket all at once. Yesterday he had been _Leonard_ , a reluctant match but a match none the less, today he was 'doctor'. It was familiar and reassuring; he had heard Spock utter it in tones of anger, disappointment, command, reluctant approval, and he had come to expect all of those from Spock. Not this matter-of-fact resignation that showed even in the lines of his face.

Then the rest finally penetrated the fog of his mind: _martyr_. A fledgling attempt at humor, a return to normalcy that had Leonard squaring his shoulders and preparing for a squabble.

"You took the words right out of my mouth." He staggered when a stabbing pain shot up his back, doubling him up for a split second before he could force himself to straighten. Just as quickly it faded, but Leonard could swore he could feel Spock's fingers all over it, reshaping his perception until the sensation became halfway manageable.

"Don't do that." Leonard snapped, shaking his head unconsciously, "I c'n barely think with just me in there." He almost called off the decision when his nerves checked in again; this would have been an excellent time to visit Scotty if mixing his inhibitors with whiskey were at all safe. As it was, Leonard found he was actually looking forward to lying down again.

"Permit me to escort you to sickbay."

"I can't tell if that was an order or a request, but either way I want to go on record as being opposed."

A long-suffering sigh was his only answer, but Spock waited patiently until he signaled his readiness by starting off in the lead.

"A bond is meant to be equal, but in the case of a telepath and non-telepath bonding I cannot be certain that will be so." The words were spoken so quietly Leonard wasn't certain whether Spock had uttered them aloud or if it had been a mere thought. It was strange to think that was something he might have to account for, now.

"Meaning?" Let it be benign. For once let it mean nothing, Leonard prayed. How much bad news could one man be expected to take in a day?

"It was not my intention to tamper with your perceptions, but you sought refuge and my discipline was not sufficient to resist."

Twitching muscles, pulse and breathing… all the domain of the autonomic nervous system. Apparently so was his subconscious, and the bond did not discriminate between partners. Leonard would have given his good right eye for a look at any and all Vulcan research projects dedicated to the phenomenon. Would it be possible to plead necessity and have the reports delivered to his personal terminal? The Vulcan council would have a heyday with the request-

"However."

Leonard perked up hopefully, it was amazing how the Vulcan could make that one word a sentence of its own, carrying shades of hope-

"I believe that frequent shared meditation may lessen these effects with time."

Spock was so careful not to look at him that he might as well have been gawking.

"Thanks, Spock, but I think I'll stick with the meds." He could feel his lips turning down in a moue of distaste. It wasn't that he minded Spock's evening activities per se, just that the thought of sitting motionless for hours at a time in that stifling furnace of a room with his friendly foe at his side seemed like his idea of the perfect hell.

"Of course it is your choice, doctor."

Leonard knew he wasn't imagining the disappointment in Spock's tone, neither the coldness of the words because he could literally feel the offense radiating from Spock. Not that he would ever admit to experiencing such a human reaction, but he no longer needed to confess it because Leonard felt it with him, a part of him and not.

Dear, sweet heaven this was going to make their arguments that much more of a headache.

The walk to his quarters that should have taken all of five minutes was nearly fifteen, but Spock never complained when he took a few seconds to get his feet under him again or when he paused to stretch out the fingers cramping from his unintentional death-grip on the feeling of relief when he finally stepped into his own rooms was profound and immediate; even his feet felt lighter.

He turned back only to find Spock still lingering on the threshold; evidently he was waiting on an engraved invitation. Feeling uncharacteristically generous now that his pain was seeping away, Leonard stepped aside and gestured him in. No use offering a drink, not even for politeness' sake would Spock take a sip of something stronger than milk. Except that he didn't take milk either. These things suddenly felt important to remember, however brief their association might be.

"Are you comin' in or am I coming out?"

"It would be better for you to rest-"

"If I hear that one more time I'm going to snap, Spock." Leonard laid the cane aside, making his careful way to his desk. For once no PADDs had piled up in his absence; M'Benga must have assumed his duties until further notice. Leonard intended to serve that notice come morning. He would go mad if he were forced off duty any longer than necessary; of all people, Jim should understand and sympathize.

"If you are certain that you do not wish to engage in meditation then we have nothing further to discuss." Nevertheless Spock stepped in, sealing the door behind him reluctantly. Leonard could feel shame and pleasure, annoyance and resignation resonating from that little pocket of his mind he was still trying so hard to avoid. He could also sense that Spock knew it, and his shame was doubly compounded by it.

"Are you still feeling guilty over this? For once even I'll admit it's not your fault. I'm just damn grateful to be alive, even if it means sorting it out later." Leonard gestured to the empty space between them; it might as well have been a gulf, No Man's Land, Leonard thought with a grim smile. Spock didn't bother protesting a lack of guilt; doubtless it was a little difficult staring down a man that knew better. Illogical, in half smile became a grin, the first he'd managed since taking a step too far off a cliff.

It was too much to ask for Spock to smile back, but a surge of relief told him it was appreciated.

"If the past half hour has been any indication, I'm not sure I can afford to swear off your meditation." As easily as that his good humor dimmed. "I took my last dose before leaving the infirmary and I c'n already feel _this_ creeping up on me." There was no use in lying or obfuscation, Spock could sense his dismay keenly if his own experience was any indication. Better to keep everything above-board, even if he could feel the skin of his ears scorching and a blush such as he hadn't worn since childhood painting his cheeks. Spock was looking a little green about the gills himself.

"My duties have concluded for the afternoon. I would be pleased to instruct you."

Leonard chuckled mirthlessly, adjusting his weight in the seat; there was just something about his own quarters that had taken all the aches away. "I don't-"

He could count on one hand the number of times Spock had admitted he would be 'pleased' to do anything, let alone tutor a cranky old man in something so personal as his meditative techniques. Even Jim had worked for _months_ to convince his first officer he would be a worthy opponent at chess. If he turned the man down now it would be as good as declaring that he would make no concession to their new… awareness? Connection? "Bond" just sounded too intimate to be tossed about in casual conversation any more than necessary. And since he had all but forced Spock into this by being so inconsiderate as to die.

Well, neither one of them were at their best, but if Spock was going to offer him a hand in friendship this once he would refrain from batting it away.

"I don't see any reason we shouldn't start now."

!

!

* * *

!

!

A.N. A short chapter this time, but far easier to edit. With any luck, the next will be up tomorrow!

gemhornet: Here's the next chap! With the rougher version currently posted on AO3, I have no excuse for unreasonable delay or failing to continue so no worries! Hope you enjoy. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Sixteen hours, seventeen minutes and forty seconds. The amount of time he had spent in meditation this past week alone, calculated according to Spock's internal clock for the express purpose of annoying Leonard every time he claimed to have spent "At least a thousand hours tryin' this, Spock, and it's not getting any better."

Spock had been kind enough to assure him that after a thousand hours of practice even the most intractable of Humans would begin to feel the benefit of such rigorous discipline. Being the aforementioned intractable Human, Leonard had finally thrown up his hands and made his escape. Figuratively, of course. In actual fact he had thrown his cane across the room with such force that Spock had lifted not one but _two_ incredulous eyebrows and ever so solicitously inquired whether Leonard had sufficiently satisfied his craving for histrionics or did he require another try?

At the end of his tether, Leonard had gathered his cane and stormed out, his exit improved he thought by its ominous click-tap against the deck.

That was a small miracle at least. For weeks after the incident he had winced every time he had to use the cane, remembering anew exactly what the cost of his survival was both to Spock and himself. Now it was becoming just another part of his morning routine, one more bit of equipment to account for before he could begin his shift. Twice now he had even dared to walk to sickbay without it, only to immediately regret the decision when his hip began protesting again. M'Benga insisted it would be at least a year before he could begin to work himself off it, if then.

That thought didn't prick him so much as it had the first time Geoff had mentioned the possibility.

Now if only he could say the same for the bond he shared with Spock.

He turned toward his own quarters, soothed by the staccato cadence of boots and cane moving in tandem. He took a perverse pride in the fact that the ensigns had learned to recognize his bad moods from the sound and scrambled to clear the way. Considering he encountered no other souls despite prowling through the busiest corridors, Leonard was forced to conclude this must be one of the tempers they so dreaded.

Remorse was already setting in, guilt adding an edge to his frustration he was certain could only be soothed with hard work. Pity Jim hadn't cleared him for more than the occasional shift, but he insisted that the Dreaded Report had to be filed first. Leonard's first three submissions had all been returned, each bearing a time stamp with Jim's ID. His reports were incomplete, his _memory_ was incomplete, and that nagged at him until he thought he would go mad with it.

Spock insisted that with time and meditative discipline he would be complete again, but so far all Leonard had to show for it were recurring dreams of tumbling down the cliff-side and the sense memory of blood pooling in his throat. He nearly spat with disgust before remembering that he was safely aboard the Enterprise and Jim wouldn't thank him for besmirching his lovely ship.

It was another effect of the bond he was finding, these echoes of sensation. The few reports Jim had managed to finagle from Vulcan contained no mention of the phenomenon, he had combed them thrice to be sure. In fact, what little he had was of no use at all, and _damn_ Jim for promising his 'full cooperation' with whatever tests their healers deemed necessary. Spock had assured him nothing would be done without his explicit consent, and Leonard could _feel_ the sincerity in his words, but the very thought of what would become of them once they were on Vulcan soil sent ice water coursing through his veins.

Only the second Human in recorded history to bond with a Vulcan, and the first male. Would their precious science academy decide the curiosity of the many outweighed the desire of the-

Soothing heat spread through him, a tingle that began at the base of his neck where the hairs were prickling and spread down to his twitching fingertips. He sensed Spock in it. The warmth felt like sunlight, not obvious unless he were paying attention, but toasting even his bones once he finally took notice. Gradually his agitated breathing slowed, pulse growing steady until he no longer heard its echo in his ears. It was a liberty Spock seldom took, though it vexed Leonard endlessly knowing he could.

That Spock had felt justified in doing so only indicated how frayed at the edges he must really be. For that reason alone Leonard chose not to resist it. He could push back now, could grit his teeth and _force_ his heart back to its hectic pace, telling Spock louder than words his interference was neither necessary nor appreciated. He knew it would have been lying on both counts, though. He allowed the slight manipulation, trying to pull his thoughts as far inward as possible where Spock knew his presence was not welcome. That was a boundary he did not cross regardless of provocation and it irked Leonard how much he had come to depend on that.

One day he would be practiced enough to deflect an intrusion without counting on his bondmate's forbearance.

With a brisk shake, Leonard came back to himself. He would not _ever_ reach that level of proficiency because Jim had promised they would make Vulcan within the month and that he and Spock could have this whole mess tidied up as though it had never been. His mind felt so full these days he wondered how it would feel to have only himself occupying the space again-

Blissful. Absolutely wonderful, no question. There wasn't even the smallest part of him that was going to miss interfering hobgoblins and it was not at all reassuring having someone at his beck and call that knew him as well as he knew himself. No man should have that kind of knowledge, especially not a hyper-rational Vulcan that might turn it against him whenever they matched wits.

 _Dammit._

Leonard's quarters were his last sanctuary aboard ship. Spock never crossed the threshold, Geoff knew better than to disturb him when he was off duty, and even Jim had stopped dropping by spontaneously. It was a conspiracy, but one that Leonard had come to appreciate. Even gravity didn't plague him once he was safely inside, minor aches and pains fading with every step. Scotty had been good enough to procure him something stronger than regulation-permitted synthahol, but he avoided the cabinet and made straight for his desk.

PADDs upon PADDs lay strewn across the surface in abject disarray. It was a state of affairs he would never have tolerated before, and one that was certainly outlawed within the confines of his sickbay, but he found himself switching between them so often, looking for inconsistencies in the Vulcan data that any attempt at organization seemed always doomed to failure.

The first PADD he laid hand to contained sparing information on Pon Farr, all of it carefully disguised in scientific clap-trap meant to deter the casual reader. It might have been useful last year when Spock had been teetering on the howling brink of madness brought on by the fever, but Leonard didn't intend to stick around long enough for a second episode. He laid it aside.

The second was a brief description of touch-telepathy, cautions about the risks and advice for maintaining boundaries between the within and without. Insultingly simple in its explanations, devilishly difficult in practice he had found. By the time he had run through the suggested exercises, he was a breath away from tears of frustration and helplessness. Except that he worried it might bring Spock running. He had his suspicions about Spock's newly acquired habit of conducting his personal research using infirmary resources.

The third was the one that made him want to barricade himself in his quarters and refuse to emerge on pain of court-martial until the minute they made Vulcan. It contained notes- detailed, _invasive_ notes on the bonding of Sarek and Amanda. The reports had been cleared for his perusal, Jim claimed, by no less than the legendary couple themselves. Which meant Spock's parents were officially in his family tree and aware of it. He hadn't even met them in person, hadn't heard more than the bare-bones historical account of their bonding, but someone had seen fit to inform them their son was bonded. Following in his father's footsteps, no less.

Leonard was well-versed enough in all things Spock to know it was probably another wedge between he and his father. For all that he could not see it, there were Vulcans that actually believed Spock had become more Human for his time aboard the _Enterprise_. This would only throw fuel on the fire, and for all that they disguised it as scientific inquiry, Leonard was of the firm opinion that Vulcans were pernicious gossips that could have put his own mother to shame.

How else could they possibly know every detail of the first meal Amanda had taken with Sarek, down to the damn hors d'oeuvre?

He pressed his face into his hands, pressing until lights flecked before his closed eyelids. None of this was helping him to write the report Jim needed. He was putting it off, hesitant to explain that an auditory _hallucination_ had led him off the path, that _instinct_ had kicked in and made him leave his partner in the dust. It wasn't plausible, it wasn't anything like him.

It was exactly what had happened, and that scream still echoed in his ears some nights, waking him from sound sleep and bathing his skin in a sheen of terror-sweat. M'Benga said the rest would come in time, Jim said he had all the time in the world.

Leonard just wanted to know what all this had been for. Coincidences were few and far between, and some part of him still clung doggedly to the idea of fate, but all this had accomplished was to give Spock even more reason to despise him. Whatever fragile entente they had finally begun to work toward was out the airlock. There was no chance either one could recover from being so intimately bound up in the other's perception. Leonard knew even if the bond were dissolved that very afternoon he would never forget what it felt like to be tethered to such an alien mind. It had to be that much more harrowing for Spock, knowing that he had chosen it, knowing that the only other choice would have meant the death of a crewmember he was hypothetically responsible for.

The kicker was Leonard knew Spock would do it all over again, even knowing what it would cost him. Even knowing a Vulcan woman wouldn't look at him twice after this broken bond. Every Pon Farr spent alone, rigorously controlled by whatever methods the Vulcans had for coping- would it always be enough?

Another seven years and they might all find out.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, safe in his own quarters. Spock never gave any indication he heard Leonard's apologies, never once considered how much easier his life would have been if he had chosen not to take that final step. It would have been illogical to dwell on the past, illogical to regret.

Leonard regretted a lot of things. And he resented that the bond was not among them. It had kept him alive, yes, but it had also given him insight into a mind Leonard would have sworn was incomprehensible, almost mechanical but for that small spark of humanity fanned to life after years among a Human crew. He had been wrong. The evidence was tucked away in that small pocket where he vainly tried to contain Spock. He could feel the emotion there, not quite the same as his own, but no less for being different. He could feel the thoughts running just beneath the surface where he did not trespass, comprehensible at last when viewed through Spock's perception.

They had tried that exercise only once, and then only for a few seconds. It was too intimate, and he feared a few seconds more would have forced him under, no longer quite Leonard McCoy.

His fears were not unreasonable, Spock had said, honest as ever. Natural empathy made the boundaries blur, left indelible impressions in their memory after long periods of exposure.

It was nothing he hadn't heard before agreeing to the experiment, but somehow with the memory of desert heat searing his skin and the scent of night-blooming jasmine lingering in the air, an echo of a memory shared between them, the reality had been too much.

He had carefully kept up the boundary ever since, and Spock had never trespassed. Not that Leonard had expected him to, Spock was nothing if not respectful. Maddeningly so.

After weeks of being perfectly solicitous, Leonard had rather hoped Spock would finally lose his temper, maybe inform him that he was maddeningly unreasonable, a perfect exemplar of his species… something so passive-aggressive it could only have come from a Vulcan. Anything that would prove they were still colleagues. But Spock had stepped wholly into his role as mentor, even protector; when he pushed himself it was no longer Jim admonishing him, but Spock dispatching formal reprimands to his work station. He never baited, insulted, bantered like he used to.

Even his tantrum during meditation had only provoked the mildest possible reaction, and it felt like a victory. He was being coddled, and Spock didn't even have the decency to pretend otherwise.

He shook off his reverie abruptly, scrolling back to the first line of text. It had to be the dozenth time, but short of marching back to Spock's quarters and offering an apology for his pique there was nothing more he could do. And if Spock ever managed to pull an actual apology from his lips, Leonard swore it would be his second to last breath. The last he would save for a final parting jab, infinitely more familiar and not remotely sincere.

Spock watched the door for a few minutes more after Leonard's abrupt departure. Normally he returned not long after, contrite in spirit but defiant in manner, ready to resume where they had ended. Today he was not so cooperative.

Every attempt to slip back into meditation was met with defeat, the room felt incomplete now without Leonard to share the space and his discipline was not sufficient to ignore the feeling of emptiness. If he concentrated though, he could feel the annoyance and regret plaguing the doctor's every step. It was a sign of how far they had come that he could understand the annoyance was largely a product of guilt, the nuances of his bondmate's moods were more transparent than they had been at the beginning of these sessions.

It followed that meditation was not an 'exercise in boredom and futility' as Dr. McCoy was wont to say.

Finally he surrendered to the inevitable, uncurling from his pose and making his way to the environmental controls. He hesitated a bare moment, debating the wisdom of changing the stats when Leonard might return, but that seemed unlikely this shift.

Experimentation had led him to the conclusion that Leonard functioned best at eight-tenths of Earth's gravity. A great deal less than Spock's native Vulcan, but for a few hours every night he was willing to compromise. The chronic pain that had etched a nearly permanent frown at the corner of Leonard's lips dissipated somewhat when he strode through the door, he found it easier to focus and was less likely to dwell on the particulars of his accident and their situation.

A situation Spock feared he might no longer be eager to resolve if it was not dealt with quickly.

"Computer, locate Captain Kirk."

He had delayed long enough.

!

!

!

* * *

!

Jim glanced up at the chime, tapping a pensive finger against the edge of his desk. He could guess who stood outside, but with the sheer number of reports yet to review he was half tempted to pretend he wasn't in. But they had been friends too long for that, and knowing Bones he would likely just key in his medical override anyway. One day Jim promised himself he would throw him in the brig for it.

Probably for all of an hour.

"Come in."

He flicked his screen off with a sigh, already smiling despite himself. These last few weeks hadn't left them much time for socializing. When Bones wasn't on shift or working through physical therapy he could mostly be found combing over the data Jim had acquired from the science academy or rooting through Federation databases for anything that might have been overlooked. Every so often, if the stars were aligned just right, he would report for his sessions with Spock without having to be reminded of it. They usually only spoke now in passing, and even then Bones seemed intent on avoiding him.

With that in mind, he would take the time tonight to make sure all was well between them.

Except the one standing at his threshold was not McCoy.

Spock lingered in the doorway, a forbidding presence in his immaculately tended uniform, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders rigidly squared. Jim could read frustration in the tilt of his lips, impatience in his stance. Neither were emotions he typically associated with Spock, but these small discrepancies had begun to creep in every now and again since his bonding. For all that it vexed Spock and McCoy both, Jim took it for a positive sign that they had not remarked how very quickly they had acclimated to their new habits.

If McCoy was a little less outspoken and Spock's biting humor more likely to make an appearance on the average shift, neither seemed to have noticed it yet.

"Captain, are you occupied?"

Jim's brows winged up, eyes opening wide in shock for all of a second before he schooled his expression to neutrality again. Normally when Spock felt the need to bring business into his quarters, it was vital enough that he never thought to ask if Jim was preoccupied with other matters. Which suggested this visit might be about more than ship's business, and if that was the case…

"Of course not. What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?" He gestured to the seat before the desk, unsurprised when Spock indicated he preferred to remain standing. Jim often wondered if he would ever convince him to sit in the company of a superior officer for anything other than meals.

"I notice, captain, that our course does not at any point intersect with Vulcan despite our mutual agreement of a few weeks past."

"Ah." This was not a conversation Jim had been looking forward to. He had hoped that in the weeks after beginning their regime, Spock and McCoy might have stumbled naturally onto the conclusion he himself had reached after only a few hour's light research. "The healers."

"In a word, yes."

"Then you've discussed it with Leonard? Apprised him of the risks, evaluated them yourself?"

Spock's silence was all the answer he required. "Bluntly, Spock, I'm against this-"

"The bond does not pertain to you, neither the severing of it."

"No, but the safety of my crew _does._ And everything I have read indicates this procedure has a low probability of success and a high probability of inflicting permanent damage… up to and including death."

"A severance has never been attempted on a Vulcan-Terran bonding. I am almost certain Leonard will not be harmed in any significant manner."

"But you cannot be certain. And you _know_ the consequences for yourself."

"I evaluated the risks before initiating the bond and found them acceptable."

Jim leaned back, crossing his arms defensively. "That marks the first time you've lied to me, Spock, and the only fact saving you from breach of conduct is that I don't think you recognize it yourself."

"Captain?"

"There was never any… no. If you haven't figured it out for yourself, I'm not going to ruin the surprise."

He stood, circling the desk until he could stand before Spock directly, stern and immutable. "Back to the matter at hand. If you want to dissolve the bond, you will need to discuss it with Dr. McCoy in every particular. That includes the risks both to himself and to you. You will apprise him of the possibility of failure and the side effects of success or I will release the documents to him. If you would permit me to give you some personal advice?"

The expression on Spock's face could only be called a scowl. In any other circumstances, Jim might have found it endearing. As it was, he didn't like the stubborn slant of those brows- there was far too much McCoy in the expression for his peace of mind.

"Of course, Jim."

The temperature of the cabin plummeted a few degrees at the chill in Spock's words.

"I know we've spoken before about what you perceive to be the difference between misdirection and deceit. It's all one and the same to him. He won't forgive you lightly."

A stiff nod was all the acknowledgment he received for his trouble, but his duty was done and Jim had every faith Spock would see reason once he had time to think on it.

!

!

* * *

!

!

Delta shift found Spock in the rec room, staring over his chess set at the empty seat Jim normally occupied. Spock had not invited him for a game since the incident. He did not intend to do so until the captain finally acknowledged the necessity of dissolving the bond. It would not be long before Leonard realized they were nowhere near Vulcan's quadrant; after all of Jim's promises, he would come demanding explanations.

Kirk had made it plain he intended to provide them if Spock did not. He had no choice but to speak candidly with McCoy.

Quintessential healer that he was, Spock knew precisely what his response would be. He wanted nothing more than to free both Leonard and himself from that responsibility.

"Waiting for Jim?" His doctor settled on the chair across from him, casting a dubious eye on the board. He had never cared for strategy games, the check and counter-check, too impatient by half and with so little guile in him it was very nearly Vulcan.

"No, doctor."

McCoy's lips pursed with displeasure. Spock felt a spike of strong emotion, strong enough that it compromised even his practiced boundaries for a split second. He tensed, assaulted by the unfamiliar sensation. Leonard, of course, remained oblivious to his distress; a consequence of bonding to a Null species, he thought.

Even Leonard could not fail to perceive the shock in his expression when he reached out to move a piece forward. "How the hell do you play this game? As if chess wasn't hard enough with one level."

He did not need the bond to alert him to Leonard's discomfort, the creeping guilt that was slowly manifesting in every line of his posture. This gesture was meant for truce, an apology for the earlier outburst. These minute forays into willful deceit no longer puzzled him as they once had. Humans seemed to require their petty dishonesty for the sake of their pride.

Spock was well acquainted with the specter of Leonard's pride, it was frequently the chief contention between them.

In the interest of protecting that pride, he did not mention that Leonard's piece could not move that way according to the rules of the game, wondering at the flare of temper he saw sparking in Leonard's eyes.

"Dammit, I'll just cut to the chase: you're molly-coddling me."

"Molly coddling?" It was an unfamiliar phrase, but one whose meaning he could guess from the way Leonard had pinned his shoulders back, meeting Spock's eyes in a way he hadn't dared since his near-fatal fall.

"You tip-toe and whisper like I'll shatter 'f you so much as glare at me. I'm made of sterner stuff than that, Spock."

"I am aware-"

"Well then, knock it off." Leonard nodded brusquely, satisfied that he had made his point.

Something curdled in Spock's stomach, some impulse making him reach out to correct the move Leonard's piece had made. In a Human, he might have called it spite. Vulcans never engaged in vengeful behavior, naturally, but perhaps there was some thread in the bond that compelled him to it.

"Better." Leonard conceded, smiling devilishly. Spock's mind flooded with warmth, skin prickling with pleasure. This was an expression he was seldom privileged to see directed at himself. After four weeks of watching his bond-mate alternate between desperation, temper and despair, it was a welcome change.

It made him bolder. Cautiously he pushed one of his own pieces forward, wondering if Leonard would meet the challenge.

Leonard shifted another piece, correctly this time, self-satisfaction tinging that small corner of Spock's consciousness he had so blithely taken for his own.

He was not a skilled player, and it was not Spock's nature to concede a victory where none was due… but then, Leonard had specifically requested he be treated as an equal. Not 'molly-coddled.'

Within twenty moves, Spock had won their game. Perversely, Leonard was clearly relieved, sparking with the glow of contentment.

Even bonded to a Human as he was, Spock feared the intricacies of their emotions would always elude him. But he saw now what Jim had attempted to tell him in his own subtle way: if he failed to provide Leonard with the whole truth, it would destroy the balance between them, tilting it once more in Spock's favor.

McCoy would not forgive him.

"Deep thoughts, Spock?" Leonard frowned, doubtless sensing that it in some way involved him. Very few of Spock's thoughts did not, now that he had the bond to contend with.

"There is a matter we must discuss." Spock took refuge in rearranging the board, preparing it for another game. A tendril of fear seeped through their connection, not wholly McCoy's.

"We're not heading for Vulcan." Leonard murmured hoarsely.

"There are matters I have concealed in the interest of ensuring you reached an unbiased conclusion."

Leonard dropped his head into his hands, hiding his eyes in a gesture Spock thought reminiscent of children avoiding the gaze of their guardians.

"Of course. Y'mean to say there are complications. There are always complications, nothing can ever be simple aboard this damn ship."

Spock was forced to agree.

"It concerns our bond-"

"I already guessed that. Out with it."

"Specifically, the matter of potentially fatal side effects-"

Fury, boiling hot. Spock strove to contain it, hoping it would not rob him of the last vestige of his dignity. Leonard's anger was potent, enough so that he could feel his heart racing in sympathy, fists clenching involuntarily.

"Fatal? If we sever it, you mean?"

Spock forced his breathing to remain even, still contending with Leonard's raw emotion.

"And you didn't think a _damn_ thing of keeping that from me until the last minute? We're stuck with this bond permanently and you thought-"

"We are _not._ " Spock gritted out.

"No? What the hell else do you suggest?"

"My research suggests there should be no lasting harm to you-"

"Dammit, Spock!" Leonard pushed away from the table violently, marching out as quickly as his cane would allow. The fury abated, replaced with a bitterness Spock was not sure stemmed from his bond-mate or himself.

He sat there a few moments more, collecting his scattered thoughts, wondering why he had not anticipated that Leonard would leave him in a temper once more. Their truce was shattered, and there was still much to arrange between them.

!

!

* * *

!

!

A.N. Sorry for this late update! RL got a little out of hand, but I think I've tamed it again. I went back to re-edit chap. 2 and found an error I missed the first time through, so it will be a couple hours probably until the last chapter is posted, but I will that up tonight. :)


	4. Chapter 4

The Andorians were far from allies as far as the Federation was concerned, but Leonard had to admit they knew how to throw one hell of a celebratory bash. Unfortunately he couldn't bring himself to participate in the festivities. He had lost sight of Jim hours ago, busy congratulating the Andorian ambassador on the ratification of a new treaty that would supposedly diminish hostilities between Vulcan and Andorian colonies. Given the ambassador's reaction to Spock's presence, Leonard wouldn't have put any serious credits on its success.

Appearances had to be observed, so Leonard dutifully decked himself out in a dress uniform, attended the endless debriefing on Andorian customs and slogged through nearly fifty pages of etiquette all to stand awkwardly in the corner, leaning heavily on his cane for support and silently wishing that he had taken Jim up on that offer to retire immediately after the preliminary meeting.

The pins that still held parts of his pelvis neatly in place were hurting him tonight, more so than usual. Against M'Benga's advice, he had dispensed with taking his normal pain-killers. It was sheer pigheadedness that had made him do it, Len could admit it now but that didn't change anything so why dwell on it? Instead he contented himself with sipping carefully at the ale so thoughtfully provided by their hosts. Scotty had warned him the stuff was more potent than he could expect, but after two glasses Leonard still wasn't feeling any more than a comfortable warmth.

Even the heavy weight of Spock's bond felt lighter. He probed it absentmindedly, just relaxed enough that he was no longer concerned about Spock sensing the intrusion. If intrusion it was. Spock had often claimed Leonard could take nothing from him if it was not willingly offered, but given the sheer number of times Spock had accurately read him this past month, Leonard wasn't sure he could say the same. Normally he tried to shy away from the constant reminder at the back of his mind, the source of no small amount of guilt on Spock's part. He could still feel that much, and it inevitably left him feeling apologetic and ashamed.

It had been his choice to avoid a severance, but with so many risks and no guarantee of success…

Leonard enjoyed his life, he enjoyed having Spock around to share it with, even if they hadn't spoken in a week. Not since that disastrous encounter over chess-

In the end it was his fault. The whole damn mess could have been avoided entirely if he had been paying more attention to his surroundings or had commed Jim the moment he suspected something was off-

That sort of thinking was unproductive. 'What ifs' served no purpose now. There was Spock's influence showing; he had warned Leonard that certain mannerisms might begin to manifest between them, even, or perhaps especially, with the added discipline of meditation. So far he had seen no sign that the effect was mutual, but for himself, Leonard swore he could feel the gears of a Vulcan mind turning sometimes within his own head.

Spock's presence felt muted, deliberately so. He was probably trying to make the evening easier for his bondmate by making his presence as unobtrusive as possible.

Mate. Leonard still couldn't think the word without shying away, a light blush painting itself along his cheekbones that had nothing to do with his drink. He and Spock were mates, except that they weren't. Because Spock wouldn't touch him. They hadn't actually touched since he had woken in the infirmary, not more than a thoughtless brush of their sleeves and one swift grab for his arm as balance failed him.

For a man as tactile as he, it was nothing less than torture. Worse yet, the whole damn crew knew they were bonded, knew the circumstances around it, and still Leonard could feel their curious eyes every time his feet carried him toward his own quarters rather than the first officer's.

Ever since he had admitted to Geoff that they were not going through with the severance- and ignore everything Spock hinted to the contrary- it felt like the whole ship was holding its breath, just waiting for him and Spock to start some sort of grand romance.

Hell, even Leonard had hoped for that at first in the privacy of his own mind, as much of his mind as it was anymore.

They were bonded, until death or a Vulcan healer did them part. The latter would likely cause the former, so it was plain off the table as far as Leonard was concerned. The bond felt like it had been there forever rather than six weeks, and with each passing day Leonard found he grew less wary of it, more accepting of its presence, particularly since Spock had only ever made use of it to protect him. There had been no uninvited forays, no curious prying at his boundaries. Clearly his curiosity hadn't got the better of him, probably because Leonard's mind was so pitifully Human as to be completely uninteresting.

"Bones, you're looking pensive."

Leonard started, the ale sloshing in his cup and spilling over onto his hands. He held it away from his shirt, scowling at Jim in fine form.

"Just wonderin' how long this new peace'll last, captain."

Jim shot him a quelling glance, rocking back on his heels. "Save your speculation until we're back aboard the _Enterprise_. I don't want any tales reaching the ambassador."

Leonard sighed, eyeing his glass regretfully, "Sorry, Jim, maybe I've had a bit too much."

"I agree." No disapproval laced his tone, but Leonard could see worry reflected in Jim's dark eyes. He needed to change the subject before this turned into a well-meaning interrogation.

"You seen Spock anywhere?" Wrong topic. Jim's eyes lit with delight for all of a second before he schooled his expression to one of disinterest.

"I think he might have gone outside. He was making the Andorian delegation nervous."

More than anything Leonard wanted to head outside for a breath of fresh air. Maybe he could catch Spock in the darkness while everyone else was busy being so hectically alive and determinedly energetic in here. They could share a few minutes of silence, bask in each other's company without any words until Leonard finally worked up the courage to ask the question that had been plaguing him since Spock had first admitted the disaster he was courting in seeking out a healer to have their bond dissolved.

 _Why am I not good enough? You'd rather risk permanent injury than spend a Human lifetime anywhere near my thoughts? Humanity's not catching, I swear._

For a moment he thought he could feel another presence there, shadowing his own thoughts. Spock said the bond wouldn't work like that, not when one of them was lacking in any telepathic ability. In other words, inferior. It was an unequal bond, and Spock would far prefer risking his ability, his sanity even, than risk spending another fifty or so years tied down to a lesser species.

That was the alcohol talking, it had to be because Leonard knew he'd never been this bitter. He didn't like it by a long-shot.

"How much longer 'til we can decently call it a night?"

"Any time now, Bones, policy only requires the officer in charge. I suppose I'm still captain even after a few hours away."

"S'pose so." Leonard grinned, "Seein' as we're both playing wallflower, I guess I'll be keeping you company for the evening."

Jim frowned, scanning the crowd none too subtly for another face. He was the unquestionable chief of the conspiracy that was trying its hardest to make sure Leonard and Spock were together at every opportunity. Their own preferences hardly mattered in the face of Kirk's determination. He didn't like to see discord among his crew, and Leonard knew his own melancholy had hardly slipped Jim's notice. It was a few minutes before he finally gave up on the fruitless search for his first officer and responded.

"That's good. I've been meaning to talk to you for awhile now."

Leonard tapped his cane in a mock-thoughtful way, lifting a warning brow in Jim's direction- a habit that had become altogether more prevalent since… well.

"I hope this isn't about Spock."

Jim grinned, the merest quirk of mischief in his expression. "Then I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you." He sobered almost instantly, mood changing so swiftly Leonard could see no trace of the smile before. "You need to patch things up. Both of you. It's got the entire crew on edge, the way you're dancing around each other these days. I've tried speaking with Spock, but he's denying any emotional investment-"

"Vulcans don't lie."

"Humans do, and much as the two of you like pretending otherwise, Spock has a very Human half. If you've opted not to undergo the severance procedure, and frankly I'm not sure I would allow it with the risks being what they are, then the two of you are going to have to come to an arrangement."

"You make it all sound so sordid." Leonard commented dryly.

"I think all our lives would be easier if that was the case. As it is, I think we would all prefer your constant bickering to this conspiracy of silence."

"I'll take it under advisement, captain."

Jim sighed deeply, and Leonard didn't like the stern expression that settled on his brow one bit. "I didn't want to make this an order, McCoy, but you may consider it so now. Fix this in whatever way you and Spock can agree on. I need my entire crew in top shape at all times, and your respective behaviors are beginning to endanger that."

Leonard snapped to attention, gritting his teeth at the white fire that raced along his nerves at the unexpected gesture. "In that case, I think I had better make my way back to the ship. Lord knows I'll need all the help I can get devising a strategy to get him to so much as look at me, let alone exchange a few words."

Jim blinked, face assuming that same neutral expression he employed over a negotiating table or poker game. "Has that been a problem lately?"

"You know damn well it has. How many times've you had to order me to keep my mouth shut? You think I don't want to talk this out? Spock won't have it. He's dead set on ignoring me until I agree to his terms. If it weren't for his stubborn pride, that walking computer would never have saved me to begin with and he's certainly had ample opportunity to regret it now."

It wasn't Jim's silence that tipped him off, though that would have been a cue in and of itself if he had been paying attention. No, it was that sudden flurry in that small part of his thoughts that he was learning to ignore with painstaking work, though not without considerable effort. Spock was near, and perturbed if that unintentional slip was anything to go by.

Leonard turned too quickly, vision going spotty with pain, he kept his feet through sheer discipline, swallowing back a cry of shock.

Spock stood there, not seven feet from him, disbelief and outrage written plainly on his face for Leonard to read if no one else. He wasn't sure how much of that impression was the sympathy of their link and how much his own understanding of Spock's body language. Either way, once he had steadied himself he took a careful step back to put distance between them. A diplomatic affair was not the place for a domestic dispute.

He could feel the small pocket of Spock in his mind unfurling like a dragon rousing from sleep, and the sheer alienness of it was enough to make him dizzy again.

"I'll see you aboard ship, captain." Hastily he started off, cursing the limp that kept him from dashing for the safety of the transport room. Not that he believed Spock would do him any harm, but instinct made him want to flee when he felt the Vulcan fall into step beside him, matching his stride step for step and draping an arm about his hips in an uncharacteristic display of possessiveness. Leonard could feel confusion, disappointment, anger, relief- hope? All swirling in him. With the bond as open as it was, he couldn't tell where one began and the other ended, couldn't begin to guess where the contradictions were introduced.

He loathed how pathetically pleased he was with the contact, the way his body steadily curved into Spock, seeking out the reassuring sturdiness of the man beside him. Not a word was spoken between them all the way to the transporter room, and Leonard could feel nervousness gathering under his skin, neck prickling with all the awareness of prey scenting its predator.

As soon as the thought formed it was wiped away, Leonard could practically feel Spock nudging his mind away from that thought, chagrin interweaving with frustration. He bit back an angry accusation until they stood at the door to his quarters at last. He was not about to have this confrontation in the corridor where any ensign could hear it. He jabbed his code in forcefully, ignoring the way Spock crowded against him as they shuffled inside, waiting for the door to close before he finally gave his tongue free reign.

Except that whatever words he had meant to speak were stifled when Spock's fingers twined with his own in a way Leonard recognized from not too long ago. For a moment he was lying the dust again, forcing breath from his battered lungs. It rattled him enough that Spock was able to steal the first words, sneaky ploy that it had been to distract him.

"I do not regret my actions, Leonard, as you would know had you ever taken the time to examine the bond with any care. I have not blocked myself from you. it has been your choice to abstain from our connection-"

"You _left_ me. You reported my condition and you left before I ever had the chance to get a word in edgewise. Then you suggest to Jim, your captain, before _my_ colleagues, that you want rid of me as fast as is humanly possible. You willfully conceal the details of the procedure you're suggesting, don't bother bringing it up until Jim _orders_ you and now you accuse me of avoidance? I learned it from the best."

"I did not want to pressure you into accepting a commitment for which you had not been adequately prepared."

"No need, Spock, we were only in this until you could find a healer competent and unscrupulous enough to near scramble our brains tryin' to root out this connection you made."

"You would not have been damaged in the event of failure, I believe the risk is only to inherently telepathic species."

"Do you think Jim won't object to losing his second over your complicated Vulcan divorce procedures?"

"The dissolution of a mental bond cannot be compared to the cancellation of a legal contract."

"Careful, Spock, much more romantic 'n that and I might swoon." Leonard set the cane aside, making his way over to his chair and settling carefully in it. His fingers still felt an echo of pressure from Spock's own and he rubbed them together thoughtlessly, savoring the last of the contact. The bond had flared to roaring life in his head, the way it hadn't in all the weeks of their 'tip-toeing'. Figured they'd feel closest when finally bickering like an old married couple once more.

"You could've said something. We've gone weeks without exchanging more'n a handful of words. You've been coddling and cooing, haven't had a cross word or a sharp comment for me since the accident. Why, Spock?"

"I wanted to be sure you were recovered. You were overwhelmed with the bond; it is not uncommon, when bonding with a non-telepathic species to encounter emotional transference."

"I think the most remarkable part of that is hearing you admit Vulcans have feelings."

"I could not be sure your thoughts were not merely a reflection of my own."

Implying that Spock had been poking at that tentative link, implying that there was more than simply professionalism between them. Perhaps even-

"I have a deep regard for you, Leonard, and would not see it jeopardized for haste."

The words left his mouth before he could consider them, a blatant challenge he hadn't meant to issue but couldn't regret when it hung between them, "Prove it."

Spock crossed the space between them without hesitation, fingers seeking out the psi-points on Leonard's face before he could think to withdraw.

"My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts."

The next moment, images and impressions were flooding through him: himself seen through the eyes of another, imperfections glossed over, ignored, others exaggerated until they became almost virtues. Biting frustration, unwilling fondness, abiding respect and a longing just beneath like a man dying for even a raindrop of water in a drought. He staggered beneath the onslaught, uncaring because Spock had caught him up and was supporting their burden like it was less than nothing.

Leonard relaxed into that hold, tentatively offering a few of his own impressions, offering parts of his mind he had intended to always be his own. It was impossible to feel shame when he could feel Spock seizing on them almost greedily, making them as much a part of himself as his partner.

"I thought you'd been forced. I thought the med crew would have-" It hadn't happened like that. He could feel Spock fighting to remain steady while he examined the extent of Leonard's injuries weeks ago, despair and determination mixing in equal measure. The relief and overwhelming guilt when the med crew had conceded that he could form the bond under these conditions, the promise Spock had made to himself that when Leonard was of sound mind and body again they would attempt a severance. He would atone for this egregious violation of trust.

And in turn, Leonard finally released that grand revelation, the one that had been plaguing him since that near-tragedy over a month ago.

Shock radiated through him, a perfect reflection of Spock's reaction. Embarrassment, his own, but painted across Spock's cheekbones in a light shade of green. What a pair they made: neither one of them objecting half so strongly to the bond as it had seemed, both reluctant to surrender it despite their initial misgivings.

There was no space between them for misconceptions, not with Spock's mind twined around and through his own, every impulse laid bare-

Leonard wrenched himself away from it, disconcerted and hurrying to erect their walls once more. He could sense Spock's reluctance, the desire to delve just that bit deeper- to quantify and qualify- ever the scientist. They had shared too much tonight though, stress and alcohol taking their toll, the _pull_ this connection exerted over both of them. 'Emotional transference' indeed.

He scrambled to be the first to break the silence between them, speaking aloud the conclusion he knew they had both reached. "I guess-"

Leonard cleared his throat and tried again, managing a tone only slightly less shaken. "There's that settled then. I won't be hearing any more about a severance?"

"If you are not averse-"

"I _am_ averse."

"Will you permit me to finish?" Annoyance. Leonard could have laughed aloud at the offense painted in broad strokes on Spock's features. Perhaps he was the martyr in their unconventional match after all.

"By all means."

"If you are not averse, I am willing to maintain our bond."

"I thought we'd settled that."

A dangerous glance, laden with reproach greeted his pronouncement. Leonard hurriedly bit his tongue.

"However, I do not consider it complete."

"I don't know-"

"I am requesting your permission to initiate a Vulcan courtship, Dr. McCoy. In light of this more permanent arrangement, I believe it would benefit us greatly to strengthen our commitment."

The ale had surely gone to his head. Either that or Spock had all but asked his hand in marriage. Hell, they were closer than married and now Spock was only just getting around to asking him out to dinner in human terms. The enormity of the situation struck him then. He had agreed to something permanent. A bond spanning the remainder of his lifetime, possibly plaguing Spock long after that.

And now Spock was, impossibly, asking to _court_ him, asking to make this connection even more tangible and invasive.

He was an idiot because the only words he could think to muster in the face of that hopelessly unromantic declaration was a muffled: "You're right. We should… we should do something."

It occurred to him then that he didn't even know what a 'Vulcan' courtship was. Obviously it differed enough from the Human idea that Spock felt the need to add the qualifier. Courtship and Vulcan were two words he had never expected to hear in the same sentence. Leonard belatedly realized that he was a little leery of having his questions answered, considering all he had seen of Pon Farr.

Spock however, gave no indication that he had noticed Leonard's distress. The impression Leonard had was one of nervousness commingled with slightly less relief.

"Then I will leave you for tonight, doctor. I suggest that you refrain from taking your medication until morning; it has been known to have a number of adverse effects when combined with alcohol."

Leonard shook off his misgivings, not quite able to muster his usual sunny smile, still lost in his own thoughts. "Course not. I'm not an idiot."

"I did not mean to imply you were in any way lacking. Good night, doctor."

"Good night, Spock." The words tripped off his tongue by rote, almost mechanical, but as the door hissed open he found the words he wanted to say at last.

"Spock."

Spock glanced back, concern tinging the pocket in the back of Leonard's mind that seemed to have expanded even since they had boarded the ship.

"Seeing as this is going to be a permanent affair." _Oh._ "You might call me Leonard from now on."

Spock lingered in his doorway a moment longer, unblinking. Leonard tried not to examine what Spock's thoughts were telling him too closely.

"Good night, Leonard."

The next moment, he was gone.

!

* * *

!

!

Concepts such as 'morning' and 'evening' were meaningless aboard the _Enterprise_. Spock had heard that newer vessels came equipped with atmospheric controls that manipulated both the lighting and ambient temperatures of these times of day according to preset data. On the _Enterprise_ , it was only a matter of knowing one's shift schedule that determined waking and sleeping hours.

He was meant to resume his duties on the Gamma shift; irregular but not unheard of. Beta shift found him still awake and alert, seated on the edge of his bed as he stared unseeing at the statuette on his table. Dr. McCoy- Leonard now, and likely ever after, liked to goad him saying there must be something vaguely pagan about him to keep such an effigy in his quarters. Until last night he would never have made the intuitive leap that Leonard's pointed comments had been meant to indicate latent affection for his idiosyncrasies.

Last night- Delta shift- had taught him that he was, despite his every belief, a creature of contradictions. Never had he more keenly felt his Human blood than that unguarded moment when he had dared to abolish the last barrier between Leonard and he.

It had been nothing short of a revelation, a new discovery, one shared between only they two. The first of many, he was certain now that they knew their bond would persist. His footsteps felt lighter though he had not adjusted the grav controls since setting them back to Vulcan standard. Spock acknowledged the vague feeling of disappointment that Leonard would be on sleep rotation this shift. He had been hard at work through the latter half of Alpha shift, unable to sleep. All through the start of Beta he had pressed insistently against the increasingly thin boundaries dividing his own consciousness from Spock's, drawn now to what they had only briefly attempted.

In time they could easily dwell within each other's thoughts without the risk of losing their personal integrity. For now, Spock would urge caution, as with any experiment involving the combination of volatile and highly reactive elements.

Slowly he began to prepare for his shift, considering the best course of action to take. Leonard had not been entirely himself last night, a lack of any pain managing drugs combined with the muted effect of alcohol and too long spent inactive had made him considerably less guarded than usual. Still, he had agreed with Spock's assertion that they must learn to adapt to each other. How better than to incorporate their respective courtship rituals?

'Peacocking', Spock had heard Leonard call it in the past, and indeed the Human ideal of courtship seemed to be dedicated to a show of compatibility, usually achieved through slight misdirection and abnormally pleasant behavior.

A Vulcan courtship was predicated on the idea of suitability, not always synonymous with compatibility. That the bond had formed between them with so little effort should have been the natural conclusion of such a courtship- the proof that they were matched equally in every way that mattered. Leonard would not agree. He so seldom did. Therefore the objective would be to convince him he could not have made a better selection of a mate even if fate had not taken a hand.

Fate. It was not a word Vulcans used lightly; the only word that existed for it in his natural tongue was borrowed from Romulan, and most Vulcans could not say it without a disapproving lilt.

Last night though, when Leonard had been so thoroughly a part of him he would have been hard pressed to draw a line between where one began and the other ended, he had felt the depth of Leonard's regard for him. He had felt the moment Leonard acknowledged that regard- lying broken and dying on the desolate planet. He had no choice but to credit the intervention of something greater than himself. It was undoubtedly that moment of self-reflection that had allowed Leonard to accept the bond that Spock had offered. Without it, he would surely have died.

Perhaps Leonard was correct in asserting there was some lingering Human superstition in him; before he left his quarters to take his place on the bridge, Spock offered a quiet, grudging thanks to whatever force it was that had not taken Leonard McCoy from him too soon.

It was Gamma shift and he should have been asleep, but Leonard found himself once more putting himself through his paces: the interminable stretching exercises that restored at least some of his flexibility. All through Alpha and Beta, he had focused the whole of his attention on his work. It was the most expedient method for avoiding his memories of last night.

Alone in his quarters at last he had nothing but time to dwell on them.

He was still nervous, still wondering what precisely had compelled him to share so much of himself. A strange worry perhaps. He should instead have wondered why, with such a strong connection between them, he had managed to resist sharing so much until now.

Spock certainly had not been deterred, had not mocked him for the endlessly confusing, entirely contradictory feelings churning in his mind. Whether those feelings were reciprocated was still a mystery to him, bur Leonard counted it a victory that the possibility had not been entirely rejected. The overwhelming impression he had of Spock's reaction was surprise. Not unpleasant, not unwelcome, only unexpected.

And today would be the first day of their 'courtship'. What exactly that would entail still had Leonard's skin crawling with nervousness. How much more intimate could they be? Constantly connected, always peripherally aware of the other's state of mind.

 _Cut one and the other bleeds_ , he thought, wondering at the truth of it. If the bond was an empathetic connection did that mean Spock could sense the impulses firing in his nerve-endings, the occasional pin-prick of pain that still managed to escape all his careful safeguards? All sensation was processed through the brain, and the bond itself was a function of that-

Research. There was still so much research to be done, so many questions left unanswered that he intended to pursue until he had at least a vague idea of their answer. They could bond over that, Spock and he, both of them equally dedicated to the pursuit of truth and knowledge as they were. It was not the conventional idea of a 'courtship', but precisely nothing of their relationship had ever been conventional or orthodox.

He stretched too far and his muscles protested vociferously, locking and tensing until he had no choice but to grab for the sturdy support of his cane once more. Geoff hadn't yet worked up the courage to tell him this injury would be permanent, but Leonard sensed the news would not now be long in coming. He was simply too old to undergo some of the newer procedures, his body too slow to knit and heal. The limp, the slow but eventual onset of arthritis, these were inevitable but also entirely manageable.

The trick would be convincing Geoff he did not need or intend to fight it.

For today though, he was going to cheat. A slight adjustment to the grav controls would ease the last of his discomfort, giving him a return to normalcy at least in his own quarters. It wasn't a habit to encourage, indulge too often and he might compromise the integrity of his bones and muscle, but a slight adjustment combined with an increase in activity would do him no harm.

He made his way to the controls and keyed in his command code. The numbers reflected back at him were already far less than he had expected. Only slightly above eighty percent of Earth's gravity.

"Computer." Leonard murmured, not quite certain how to phrase his question.

"Computer, display code, time-frame sixty days to present. Eliminate personal ID."

And there it was, glowing on the screen before him, Spock's override code, last used to access environmental controls.

He was annoyed for a moment, confronted with another instance of Spock's meddling. But a smile crept to his lips despite himself at the thought of Spock being so vigilant that he was able to calculate the setting that would both soothe pain and manage to fall just beneath the detectable threshold of sensation. He left the grav controls set as they were, making his way to the infirmary to confirm another theory that had only just occurred to him.

"I'll be damned."

There it was, the incontrovertible evidence before his eyes. The infirmary's controls were set to Earth standard… this shift. In fact, every shift that was not his. His shifts though were the perfect mirror of the settings in his quarters.

"You sly dog," Leonard murmured, inspecting the fluctuations recorded in the data of the past few days. Spock had been meddling for _weeks_ , ever since he had resumed his normal course of duties.

Only medical codes would have worked in his med-bay, which meant smart credits were on Geoff being an accomplice. Knowing how possessive the med staff could be of their environmentals, Leonard was sure he was far from willing. Not that Spock ever bothered himself with the opinions of medical except to provoke them.

Leonard jolted back to himself when he felt an echo of his own amusement, warm and inviting and decidedly _other_. This was what he would have missed if Spock had succeeded in concealing his intentions- the casual intimacy of it was still startling at times, but more than that it was grounding. It reassured him to feel the reflection of Spock's humanity and his own, interspersed with the peculiar workings of a Vulcan mind as well. He did not think it would ever cease to amaze him that such a thing were possible.

He doubted it would ever cease to humble him, knowing a mind of such boundless understanding found its match with his own.

"Leonard?"

Spock's voice didn't startle him in the slightest. For all that the bond did _not_ come equipped with a proximity sensor as he had once jokingly suggested, he could feel the minute fluctuation of his pulse slowly ticking up to synchronize with Spock's own, the way his breath gradually evened out once Spock's attention turned to him.

"I found your bit of mischief here."

Spock's weight shifted guiltily, but his tone was nothing short of unrepentant. "I thought it might expedite your healing. M'Benga assures me it will do no harm provided you maintain your schedule of exercise."

"Are there any other little secrets you'd like to share, Spock? Anything else I am going to find?"

"No."

He really should have kept it to one question, Leonard reflected. He wasn't sure which one Spock had just answered.

"Was I incorrect in assuming your symptoms would ease?"

"It was a little presumptuous not to consult me." Leonard hedged.

"But you are not displeased." Spock concluded. It was useless to deny it, not when Spock could sense his sincerity or lack thereof.

"Thank you, Spock." The words didn't come easy. His tongue rebelled at the act of speaking them, throat nearly closing on the final syllable.

Clearly he needed more practice saying it. So he tried again, with genuine warmth: "Thank you, really."

Impossibly, it was those words that sent the barriers tumbling again, and Leonard knew without being told he could not draw them about himself any longer. The emotions reflected back at him were so similar and resonated with such familiarity that it was pointless to distinguish between which of them they had originated from:

Amusement, fondness, gratitude, hope, delight, excitement. All of them mixing so that he could not be sure which it was that made his stomach flutter tellingly, or which it was that had put the light in Spock's eye and a telling quirk of the lips on his face. He felt completed in a way their interminable meditation sessions had never achieved.

Most of all, he found, there was no fear there, not even the faintest tinge of nervousness.

"Leonard-"

Breathing, right. Very important. Leonard took a breath, then another, chuckling when he noticed Spock was visibly reminding himself to do the same. It looked the crew would never have their grand romance; Spock and he preferred their small moments, the million and one building blocks of a regard stronger and more lasting than circumstance.

"My God, we are a pair."

"Bondmates, in fact." Spock quipped dryly, offering an arm without prompting. Leonard took it, falling into step beside him, the cane clasped uselessly in the crook of his elbow. He didn't foresee needing it often when they were together. Without the self-imposed void to separate them, Leonard could feel Spock's pleasure in the thoughtless tactility of the gesture. Vulcans were a species of touch-telepaths. He knew now what it had cost Spock to keep from touching him, the conscious effort he had exerted at every turn to avoid compromising Leonard's sanctity of self.

Spock hummed agreement to the thought Leonard hadn't spoken aloud, tightening his grip only slightly. It disturbed him, the peculiar echo of Leonard's possessiveness that had begun to manifest in his behavior. The satisfaction he felt at providing for his mate's comfort, the pleasure in sensing the memory of Leonard in his quarters and the feeling of ease that had so completely blanketed him upon stepping foot into Leonard's space-

"When did you realize?" Leonard asked, still not entirely used to the idea of communicating without words. Once he had the hang of it he was certain they would drive Jim up the proverbial wall with their telling silences. All these years they had spent deliberately seeking out each other's company, nettling each other, the quibbling and the oneupmanship, taking in the lesser known facets of each other and delighting in their respective abilities to provoke a response. It was far from over; there were entirely new avenues of expression open to them.

A truly inspired thought occurred to him, one that made him walk just that bit faster, eager to reach his quarters so he could invite Spock in and see if that reduced gravity didn't come with secondary effects. He had always assumed that Vulcans were a naturally celibate species, hence the Pon Farr, but he could feel Spock's thoughts taking a decidedly amorous turn-

Only to deliberately, and with no small amount of effort much to Leonard's satisfaction, come back to the present.

"M-1826." Spock stated matter-of-factly. "When I saw you at the cliff-"

Sensory impressions overtook his words, swallowing Leonard in memory:

 _As he knelt to collect the sample, Spock_ felt _as much as heard the doctor's cry. It sent a pang of sympathetic pain shivering up his spine, all thoughts temporarily suspended as he strove to suppress a sudden spike of adrenaline. The flask fell from his numbed hands, falling end over end to shatter on the rocks around them._

 _Sulu called after him as he sprinted toward the source of the cry, already well on the way before he realized where his legs were carrying him. Spock could taste a bitter tang at the back of his throat, feel a gasp of breath he couldn't quite force past the pressure in his chest. Leonard was_ reaching _in a way that should have been impossible for a non-telepath. Or perhaps after all their years spent together his mind had simply come to recognize the draw of Leonard's own._

 _His feet turned in the direction he knew he had to go, hardly stumbling over the uneven terrain. Even after so many years, his time on Vulcan had served him well; the desert sand held no surprises for him. For Leonard though, any number of things might have been his undoing- where had his crew gone? Those men responsible for his_ protection? _He should have insisted Leonard join the remainder of the survey team, should have kept him close. Leonard's curiosity was always meant to be the death of him._

 _Spock's feet skidded on the smooth rock at the edge of the drop-off, pebbles dancing beneath his feet. The only tracks here were Leonard's own. No trace of an ambush, let alone another living creature-_

 _His breath stopped when he saw the corpse lying at the bottom of the cliff, red blood seeping into the dirt until it turned to black tar- and then, somehow, Leonard moved._

 _He was over the edge in an instant, scrabbling to maintain his balance, already comming for assistance:_ "I have located Dr. McCoy, medics are required at the following coordinates-" _Spock barely spared an eye for the numbers as he rattled them off, too focused on McCoy. He caught the way Leonard's dust-coated lips moved, a mute attempt at reassurance he was certain, one his doctor had no strength to voice. His breathing stuttered, muscles twitching spasmodically as the lost their tension._

 _Unthinking, Spock twined his fingers through Leonard's own, trying to ground him with some tactile connection to life. He felt Leonard's thoughts, racing fast and jumbled. Memories and emotion, overwhelming in their intensity and made all the more cutting by the underpinning of_ agony _he could feel beneath each one. He could not take the pain, not without a bond, could do no more than press his fist into the seeping wound and_ will _the medics to hurry._

 _Beneath him, Leonard slipped away_ -

 _Spock_ reached _with everything he had, any thought for the consequences gone with the last shred of_ Leonard _he felt leaving him by the second._

"Spock! What are you doing?" _Jim_.

 _Even for Jim he could not have done this; they were the closest of friends, but Jim Kirk remained inscrutable as ever to him. Leonard though, unapologetically Human as he was, Leonard was ever transparent, ever predictable. It gave Spock the leverage he needed to pull him back from the edge, weaving the frailest of connections between them. It would not last. Not long enough for Leonard to be saved._

"I can save him." _Spock growled, beyond the ability to be surprised by the latent savagery he felt just below the words._ _He_ could _save Leonard, and so Leonard must be saved. The thought of existing in a world that did not include him was unconscionable. Without someone, without Leonard there to challenge him, contradict him, provoke him, he would be left incomplete._

"Do it." _Jim ordered, and Spock could sense that he did not know what it was he had commanded. If he took the time to explain, Leonard might be lost. Jim might attempt to stop him, and what he now did might become mutiny. So he said nothing as he wove the bonds tighter, taking Leonard's memories into himself, forcing some impression into Leonard's mind. He encountered no resistance, knitting them together so swiftly and completely it took no more than the space of a thought._

 _And Leonard was there with him, in him, around him. Every hollow filled, every jagged edge neatly complemented with such perfection it banished his anxiety and hesitation._

 _Even he could not fail to recognize it for what it was:_ Buk. _Or, as Leonard would have said,_ fate.

"Oh." It left him on a breath, more a sigh than a word. His eyes prickled with the burn of tears, a lingering effect of the sudden onslaught.

"I cannot be certain when it first occurred." Spock admitted, voice muted. "However, losing you was the catalyst for its expression."

It. Leonard nearly laughed aloud; he knew it would be years, if then, before he ever heard the word proper from Spock's lips. It was enough to know _it_ was there, the knowledge that he was loved as he loved coiled in the back of his thoughts. He had no need of anything so frail as words with that assurance between them.

"Me too." Leonard admitted, entirely unnecessarily. Had he not given Spock that memory only the night past? What secrets could they keep between them now?

Spock did not answer in so many words, but Leonard rejoiced in the minute tightening of the grip about his arm.

He leaned in, enjoying Spock's solid presence beside him, basking in it for a moment or two before he resumed his train of thought where he had last left off.

It wasn't romantic, likely wasn't at all in line with Spock's idea of courtship, but they had a lifetime to figure out how they would make this work. Just now, with the memory of his near-death experience brought home so vividly, all Leonard could think of was the sheer number of regrets he had nearly died without resolving.

Spending another night apart fell squarely in the middle of that list.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to postpone that Vulcan courtship in favor of a Human tradition?"

Spock eyed him warily, puzzled at this new line of inquiry but harboring suspicions Leonard would be pleased to confirm.

"May I inquire as to the nature of the tradition?"

"Vulcans aren't exactly famed for their impulsiveness. I'm guessing there's no room for spontaneity-"

Spock snorted, "Spontaneity, doctor, is a Human word meaning a failure to adhere to tradition."

"Thought so. But we're not a wholly Vulcan couple here, and you should consider honoring your human roots every once in a while."

Spock considered, and Leonard almost felt guilty knowing that he did so in all sincerity, likely expecting the three tasks of Hercules. Leonard bit his lip- he had approximately six meters to convince Spock this was a good idea and he didn't even have an answer as to whether it was welcome or not.

"Your suggestion has merit." Leonard thought he heard a tinge of mischief in Spock's tone, but that was impossible- his features were inscrutable as ever and there was no flicker of amusement that he could sense in their bond. But years of exposure to the first officer's many moods had taught him to be wary of that tone. It inevitably meant that he did not know the stakes of the game he was playing.

"Stay the night with me."

"Is that a straightforward request, Leonard, or a euphemism?"

"A euphemism. In the interest of honoring the human tradition of celebrating one's survival."

Now he felt the sudden influx of amusement, and twining beneath it an excitement he had not expected. His own heart raced in sympathy, skin tinging a healthy pink.

Two meters and the walk to his quarters had never felt longer or more agonizing; he punched in his entry key in record time, sliding in with Spock on his heels.

The door hadn't sealed before he found himself turned in Spock's embrace, dexterous Vulcan fingers pressed to his temples, his cane falling forgotten from his arms. Irrelevant with his bondmate to lean on. The last of his breath left in a shuddering rush as Spock found that last guilty shred of reticence- an unexpected shyness now that they found themselves alone- and in the next moment it was gone. Subsumed beneath a heat as scalding as Spock's Vulcan sun.

He could feel himself there in Spock's mind, could sense what it was that made him unique, that still kept them separate even as they were so closely entwined. He was the eye of a particularly tempestuous storm, a perfect foil for Spock's methodical nature, a constant reminder of _home_ by his very difference. Every imperfection painstakingly cataloged and analyzed, but Spock had despaired as much as he at the thought of losing whatever inimitable spark it was that made Leonard McCoy himself even as he thrilled to find vestiges of his own nature beginning to linger in the corridor of Leonard's mind.

It was nearly overwhelming, the sudden influx of unfiltered feeling. Vulcans were not without emotion; to the contrary, the sheer depth of them was reminder enough that still waters ran deep- and he was drowning, dizzy and gasping for any vestige of air- of self he could find. He staggered when Spock released him at last, a second or an eternity later he couldn't be sure. His fingers twined in the loose fabric of Spock's uniform shirt, drawing reassurance from its coarseness, grounding himself once more.

"I am sorry, Leonard, I did not-"

Slowly, carefully, Leonard reached out to twine their hands together. At once so similar and different to the moment they had first connected. Spock caught a breath, a wicked jolt of pleasure coursing through his system that set bolts of joyful agony playing along Leonard's skin in sympathy. It wasn't fair that he was the only one still catching his breath, learning how to stand with trembling knees once more. He drew Spock's palm back to his mouth, feeling a sharp echo of sensation as the heat of his breath played along sensitive fingertips, down to an open, trusting palm. He pressed his lips there, lingering until he felt the beginning of a minute tremble beneath his hand.

Tomorrow they could begin to think of logistics- whom would sleep where, whether they intended to seal this with a human ceremony- and Leonard intended to pester and bully Spock until he could meet his parents again, this time as their son's bondmate. That thought was more anticipatory than fearful now-

"Is it your intention to torture me, doctor?" There was a tone he had never heard in Spock's voice before: desperation, not unmixed with pleading. He wanted to hear it again.

It was the work of a moment to coax Spock to his bed- neither one of them were likely to remain standing long shaky as they were. It took some maneuvering, finding a position that didn't send a dull ache racing up his spine. Spock's patience was a blessing, the wondering light in his eyes enough encouragement to stay the course. Spock looked at him like a new and particularly puzzling specimen, one he did not intend to release until he had compelled it to give up every one of its secrets.

Leonard liked to keep a bit of mystery himself; clearly they would have to reach a compromise here too.

For now though, he pressed Spock's fingers once more to his temple, saying without words what he wanted. Spock's other hand came up to cradle his face of its own accord as he leaned forward to press a kiss against thin, chapped lips. He pressed closer, sharing breath and thoughts and body heat, treasuring every muted gasp, the kindling flame he felt that so closely mirrored his own.

Tomorrow he would inform Jim that he and Spock had, against all probability, 'patched things up'. They could resume their argumentative, contrary habits on the bridge. Here though, they were in perfect sync.

Spock's agreement did not take the form of words; once more he found himself drowning in the totality of them, lost in the interplay of body and mind, the carnal and ethereal, while the world around them fell away.

!

!

!

* * *

!

A.N. : Hours, days, what's the difference? Seriously, sorry this took so long, but it is finally complete! :D

Many thanks to everyone that read/reviewed/what have you, it was nice having you along for the ride! (And heaven knows you all waited long enough with the patience of saints.)


End file.
